A Hot Mess
by Skalidra
Summary: Jason's roommate at his college, one Dick Grayson, is both a blessing and a curse. Hot as sin but messy as hell, and completely oblivious to both things. Even when he brings up the mess part of it, it doesn't get much better (although Dick is trying). So, they enact a system. Cleaning, in exchange for 'favors.'


Welcome! So, this is a piece inspired by a Tumblr post, which I cannot link to because FF is a bitch, but the main point of it being that Jason's sort of a neat-freak, and Dick is _quite_ messy. If you want to see it, go ahead and visit this story over on Ao3 instead. Enjoy! (Also, if you've written me a review here and haven't received an answer, it's because FF is doing its stupid 'invalid review' error where I can't actually access any of the new ones. Sorry.)

No **warnings**!

* * *

Jason had realized pretty quickly that his new dorm roommate — Dick Grayson — and he were going to have to have some rules about the place. The guy had seemed nice enough when they were first introduced — bright smile, easy laugh, and not _instantly_ disapproving in the face of the knowledge that he'd gotten in on scholarship instead of _buckets_ of money like everyone else — but then there are the unwashed dishes, the clothes and wet — _wet_ — towels discarded on the ground, and the utter and complete _obliviousness_ over how gross it all is.

The guy might be borderline-model levels of good looking, but he's a _mess_ of a human being and he honestly has no idea how the guy even survives. If he didn't roll out of bed with his hair magically looking _tousled_ instead of spiking up on one side like _Jason's_ does — like _normal_ peoples' does — he's convinced that his roommate would probably look just about as terrible as the way he lives does.

At first, he settles for just making sure that his half of the room is neat and clean. Teach by example. He just sucks it up when it comes to the bathroom, because there's no way in hell that he can split the room well and he's not living with the mess in there. (He also finds it bizarre that the college is fancy enough to give each dorm room its own bathroom, but not say, _single_ rooms, but he'll chalk that down to the mystery of people with money.)

But it builds.

The messes don't get better, and even though the other half of the room is not technically his space he still has to _see_ it on a regular basis. It grates at him, but he bites his tongue because he's also worried about bringing it up.

Dick's been one of the very people in this school that hasn't automatically looked down on him because of his lack of rich parents, or hasn't been fine with him up until the moment he opened his mouth and his distinct lower-Gotham accent smacked them in the face. That's just about when anyone who didn't recognize him on sight recoils and he loses whatever chance he had of making 'friends.'

If he confronts Dick about this, he could ruin the peace between them. He could lose the only person in this whole place that isn't immediately and visibly repulsed by everything about him. His clothes, accent, belongings, attitude… (God forbid anyone in this place find out he's bi, on top of all the other 'unsavory' things about him.)

But then, if he _doesn't_ , he might go mad. So there's that.

He finally bites the bullet one night when Dick's come in from the last of his classes and collapsed on the bed. Backpack dumped on the floor, top open and spilling heavily post-it-noted books onto the floor. One shoe lazily kicked off and left near the door and the other still caught halfway on his foot. In a minute, he knows, Dick will drag himself up, take a short shower that will leave _yet another_ towel on the floor, kick off enough clothes that he has to look away, and spend the rest of the night reading or studying or playing some game on his phone in nothing but boxers.

Jason's still not entirely sure if that's a blessing or a terrible curse, but _damn_ if it isn't a nice sight. Be a better sight if he didn't live in constant worry that these rich, preppy kids are going to figure out he's 'gay' and have a whole new approach to try and make his life miserable. Not like the technicalities will matter to any of them.

He closes his book, setting it aside on his nightstand and looking over at Dick, giving it a couple moments before he says, "Hey, Dick. Can we talk for a minute?"

Dick stirs, head turning out of the pillow and towards him, mouth already curving in one of those charming smiles. "Sure." Dick pushes up on both arms, propping himself up on his elbows and meeting his gaze. "What's up?"

His tongue decides this is the _perfect_ opportunity to ruin his night, because what comes out of his mouth is, "You're a mess." He clicks his mouth back together, horror and embarrassment bursting to life in his chest.

Dick's expression shifts from charming, to confused, and then to a sort of slightly defensive amusement as he laughs and then says, "Thanks?"

"Shit. No, sorry, I didn't—" He grimaces, scrubbing a hand over his face and then mumbling, "Way to fucking blow it," to himself. Dick's still looking at him though, so he forces himself to get a hold of his tongue and correct himself. "You're _messy_. That's what I meant. Sorry."

The second laugh sounds less defensive, but definitely at least a little bit embarrassed. He looks over and Dick is glancing around the room, gaze lingering on, well, his entire _half_ of the room. "Yeah..." Dick says, stretching the word out a lot longer than it should be. "Sorry, I uh... I've always been pretty terrible at being neat." Dick's gaze slips to his side of the room, and then after a beat of silence he adds, "You've clearly got no such problems."

He's got more in depth answers to why that is, but he's not real interested in telling any of his psychological issues to the rich kid that he's trapped in a room with. So he settles for saying, "Yeah, it's... habit." He clears his throat, looks down and then forces himself to look back up and give a slightly awkward smile. "Anyway, it's... it's sorta driving me a little nuts so, could you maybe work on it, a bit?"

Dick winces, and then smiles wider. "Yeah, sure. Do my best."

He manages to give a less awkward smile at that reassurance. "Thanks."

* * *

Things don't get better. Not really, anyway.

Dick _does_ seem to try, but either their versions of 'clean' are way different or Dick's just oblivious to most of the messes he leaves behind. Dishes are at least mostly getting done, even if they're generally one or two days later than he'd like them to be. Towels make it in the hamper _occasionally_ , though he's still somehow always the one to take them into the communal laundry room (thank god the things don't charge quarters, with the way Dick burns through towels). Bed's never made, but honestly he knows that's just his own weird tick so he really doesn't care all that much. Clothes… Well, those are a lot like the layer of dust slowly accumulating on Dick's haphazard bookshelves. Ignored, or maybe not even noticed.

Except on the rare occasion that Dick comes into the room, and then seems to actually _notice_ the mess and go into a whirlwind of cleaning that lasts about ten minutes and fixes the worst of it. Then it spirals downhill again until the next time Dick realizes how scattered everything is.

It's… well, entertaining, a bit, but also just a little frustrating. Plus, the mess is _still_ driving him nuts, though at a slower pace than before.

One day, he breaks. He's tired, he's been in class _all day_ and the other students were giving him hell for most of it whenever they got the chance, and when he walks into the empty dorm room — Dick's out late a fair bit; he's got actual _friends_ — and sees the trail of discarded clothing leading from Dick's bed to the bathroom, something in him just _snaps_. If Dick had actually been there he probably would have said something nasty, but luckily he's not, so irritation gives way to anger, and then flattens out into frustrated determination.

He throws his bag down on his own bed, lets his jacket follow suit, and then lets his frustration wipe out his tiredness and gets to work.

He starts with the clothes, gathering them up and throwing them into the actual hamper, like a _civilized_ person, and follows it up with the towels. He makes Dick's bed, washes the little group of dishes scattered across their mini kitchen and carefully puts all of it away, and then — when he's satisfied that at least all of the surface stuff is neat — he grabs actual cleaning supplies from beneath the sink and gets to work eliminating the layer of dust covering everything Dick doesn't regularly touch.

Maybe he goes a little overboard.

By the time he can't find anything else to scrub or wipe clean — their bathroom has never looked so clean and he is _proud_ — he's exhausted, and he gets about as far as removing his shoes and socks before passing out on top of his bed, jacket dragged half beneath his head. He sleeps deep and solid, and the smell of something delicious and distinctly _fried_ is what eventually wakes him up. He grumbles into a pillow, curls a little tighter underneath the blanket, and it takes him a few long, sleepy moments to figure out what's wrong with both of those actions.

He opens his eyes, squinting against the glare of morning light and cautiously turning his head out of being buried in the pillow beneath it. A little movement tells him he's still in his clothes, and his own blanket is still underneath him so…

A bright smile meets his gaze, and he blinks, stares a little more. "Dick?" he rumbles, peering across the room at the all-too-awake man sitting on the other bed. The other… blanket-less bed. He twists his head to look at the blanket over him, and it is dark blue and most definitely not his. "Did you…?"

"You crashed pretty hard last night," Dick says, voice soft, leaning forward on his knees with his elbows propped on them and chin resting on both hands. "You were totally dead to the world by the time I got back; didn't wake up through my shower or anything. Didn't seem right to leave you cold."

He shifts up, letting the blanket fall down around his waist as he shakes his head, trying to clear out the bits of sleep fogginess still stuck in the corners of his skull. "Thanks," he mumbles, rolling his head around until his neck cracks. He hides a yawn behind one hand, and shifts up high enough to actually sit more or less straight. "What time is it?"

"Around ten," Dick answers, straightening up too. "You haven't got classes today, right? Free day?"

"Yeah," he agrees, after a second to remember what _day_ it is. "Something smells… great."

Dick grins, and gets to his feet with sudden purpose, striding across the room towards their kitchen. "Yep! I went out and got breakfast; seemed only fair after you… well…" Dick turns back around with a styrofoam take-out container in one hand, gesturing at the whole room with the other. "All of this."

He takes the container when it's handed to him, and Dick… Dick sits down next to him, on _his_ bed, close enough that their shoulders are almost touching. He just stares for a second, and then slowly pops open the container, and almost snorts at what's inside. Hash browns, next to fried chicken and what's definitely some kind of side-diner toasted bagel thing. It's a hell of a mismatched meal, but it's also exactly what he gets down in the cafeteria, when they've got all of it at once in that strange in-between time between breakfast and lunch.

"I pay attention," Dick says, nudging his shoulder. "I mean, I'm pretty blind when it comes to cleaning, evidently, but I pay attention to other stuff. Thanks for doing all that."

He shrugs, and then admits, "You know, I don't actually _mind_ cleaning. It's… nice, sometimes." He raises his gaze, and takes in a steadying breath before he meets Dick's eyes and says, "But I'm not your maid; I don't want to clean up after you."

Dick's smile has faded, and the face looking back at him is serious, but it doesn't look… angry. Or rejecting. "It sounds like we need a system then," Dick says, and there's nothing but sincerity to it. "I mean, obviously I'm not keeping this place clean to the level that you want it done — which is a totally reasonable level, don't get me wrong; this is _nice_ — but it's just not really something I notice, so… I mean, there could be a reminder chart? Scheduled chores? I don't want to stick you with all the cleaning."

He thinks about it for a few seconds, and then breathes out and counters, "How about, you just keep trying to keep your side of things clean, and if I see anything that needs to be done, I'll do it? But, every time I do, you owe me a favor?"

Dick blinks at him, head tilting a bit to one side. "A… favor? Like what?"

Another shrug, smaller this time, and he drops his gaze down and away from Dick's. "I dunno; a... meal? Errands? The laundry run? Whatever, I guess. I mean, you _are_ doing better about all of it since I brought it up, at least a little. So I kinda figure that if I remind you of things that need to be done, eventually you'll start actually doing them. And I can do them in the meantime, but feel like I'm actually getting something for it, which would make me _way_ less grouchy about the whole thing."

"Yeah?" Dick asks, smiling again.

"I don't mind the _cleaning_ ," he points out, "I mind the cleaning up after _you_ bit of it."

"Totally fair," comes the agreement, and then Dick laughs and nudges his shoulder again, softer. "Alright, deal. So, by my estimate I definitely owe you at least like, lunch and dinner too. You got plans for the day?"

He gives Dick a sharp look. "Not really, but y _ou_ have class."

"So I'll ditch. I can make it up later; not like there are any tests today. Want to come hang out with me? We could see a movie, or just talk?" Dick's smile turns crooked, almost a little embarrassed. "Occurs to me that we've been living together for months but I don't actually really _know_ you? Man, Alfred would have my _hide_ for being so rude."

"You're not rude," he refutes automatically, before coming around to, "Who's Alfred?"

Dick winces. "This is going to make me sound like a rich prat, you ready?" He snorts, nods. "My butler, back home. He basically raised my stepdad, and sorta me too. He's pretty awesome."

He grins. "You're right, that _does_ make you sound like a rich prat."

Dick makes a wounded noise, one hand clasping dramatically over his heart as he sways away. "Oh! Shot to the _heart!_ " Then the next moment Dick is rolling away, getting back to his feet and then reaching one leg out to prod his calf. "Go on, eat breakfast, do what you gotta do, and then we can head out somewhere. If you're up for it?"

He hesitates for a second, before resisting the urge to grit his teeth as he quietly brings up, "You sure you wanna be seen out there with me? I'm not exactly one of the school's most popular people."

For a second Dick looks serious, and then he gives a smaller smile and a slow nod. "I'm sure. Anyone who doesn't like it can tell _me_ that."

He relaxes a little bit, and to hide the relief in his eyes he looks back down at the container of food sitting in his hands. "Alright, I'm down. Give me a few to eat and shower?"

The smile brightens. "Go for it."

* * *

"Who the hell did you sell your soul to for this, Dick?" Roy exclaims, as soon as they walk through the door and into his dorm. "It's… It's actually clean. There's no layer of dust, no unwashed dishes, no strange _smell_."

"Knock it off, Roy," he says, pushing him forward a step so he can actually shut the door. "Just because you're a disaster on your best days—"

"No, Dick, you are a _slob_. I mean that in a kind, friend sort of a way, but you could not be this neat if your life depended on it."

There's a harsh snort from across the room, and he looks over to find the current bane of his existence standing in the gap the open bathroom door makes, smirking. "Well, you're not wrong," Jason drawls, lower Gotham accent making his syllables a little sharper, a little rough around the edges. His stomach does its customary little flip.

He smiles anyway, grabbing Roy by the arm to stop… whatever it is that Roy was about to do. Because he knows his friend. "Roy, this is my roommate, Jason. Jason, this is Roy, the resident pain in my ass."

"He means one of his best friends," Roy says, with a grin, not _quite_ pulling against his grip. "So _you're_ Jason; I've heard a lot about you."

For a second, there's a little flicker of defensiveness in Jason's expression, before it vanishes again. "Yeah? From him, or the college in general?"

Roy, for once displaying an ounce of tact, just keeps grinning and says, "Both." And then it's gone, because Roy immediately follows it up with, " _Way_ more flattering things from this guy though," and twists the arm he's holding away so an elbow can dig into his side hard enough to make him wince and give a little grunt of pain.

Jason's smirk stays, which means that Roy didn't totally offend him — thank _god_ — and he repays the elbow in kind even as Jason says, "Good to know. It's me, by the way. The person that he sold his soul to."

Roy twists out of the way of his return elbow, and then looks around the room itself, spinning in a little circle. "Hot _damn_. Got yourself a man that _cleans_ , huh, Dick? This is probably the best smelling dorm room I've walked into in like, all three years I've been here. Seriously, that—" an exaggerated point towards Jason "—is a keeper. Keep that man."

"We're not—" Jason starts, at the exact same time as he hisses, " _Roy!_ "

There's a moment of awkward silence while he looks at Jason, startled, and Jason looks right back at him with what he's pretty sure is the exact same expression. Roy, the prick, just _grins_.

"It's an exchange," Jason says, taking the initiative. "Any time he leaves a mess and I clean it up, he owes me a favor."

He can _see_ the dirty joke at the tip of Roy's tongue, and he quickly snaps, " _Don't_. Whatever you were about to imply, Roy, just don't."

He does _not_ need Roy outing his kind-of extreme attraction to his roommate. It's hard enough keeping it hidden enough that Jason doesn't notice; he doesn't want to make things awkward between them. He knows that Jason doesn't exactly have friends in this place, since ninety perfect of the student body here is rich kids who look down on the one poorer, Gotham-born guy who got in one scholarship. The other ten percent are too afraid of being ostracized to actually step out against popular opinion, and one of those opinions is that Jason is to be avoided or harassed, in turns.

Jason, luckily, seems to be tough enough to weather it. Still, he doesn't want to cut off the one good relationship that he's actually cultivated in this place, even if he does regularly stare a few seconds too long at Jason's smile, or shoulders, or _legs_. Oh god, the _legs_.

Jason is tall, in shape, and _smart_ in a sharp, kind of sarcastic way that he appreciates a little too much. He's mainly quiet, confident in some ways and shy in others, and he works _hard_. It might be because Jason has no other local friends — lower Gotham's a _very_ long way away now — but he's almost always in at night, either studying through _heavy_ looking books, or lying on his bed reading through some old, worn copy of something classic and thick. It's bizarre how very much Jason _is_ a nerd, but doesn't look anything like one. It's also incredible, and he's way too attracted for his own good.

Roy holds both hands up in surrender, even though the grin very much stays. "Alright, alright." He can see the wicked glint to Roy's gaze, but this time he doesn't intervene fast enough to stop him from saying, "Hey, Jason, you should totally come out drinking with us tonight. Just us and a couple other friends; get a little drunk, dance a little bit, maybe find someone cute to have some fun with… Sound good?"

Jason's gaze flickers over to him, and even as he freaks out a little, internally, he does his best not to show any of that. He smiles instead, shrugs, and adds, "Interested?"

There's a pause, and then Jason says, voice lower, "Might be kind of hard to bring anyone home when _this_ is home."

Roy smirks. "You might be surprised," is what comes out, and he dies a little bit more inside because _he_ knows what Roy is implying, even if it hopefully slips past Jason. "Well then, _I'm_ going to go back to my room and change. Dick, you'll bring Jason, right?" There's no opportunity to answer before Roy is spinning around and heading for the door. "Great! See you there!"

He can't figure out anything to say to counter that assumption without sounding like, well, a dick, and the door shuts before he comes up with any alternatives. He bites back a sigh, scrubbing a hand back through his hair and giving a sheepish smile to Jason, who looks somewhat confused but mostly amused.

"You don't have to come," he starts things off with. "Roy can be a little… well, _that_. Don't feel obligated; he'll survive the disappointment if you don't show up, promise."

"It's alright; sounds fun." Jason shifts, meeting his gaze, and asks, "Are you okay with me tagging along? I totally get if you just want to hang out with your friends, I—"

"No!" The flush comes sharp and sudden to his cheeks as he registers exactly how loud he said that, and he ducks his head and then gives an embarrassed smile. " _No_ , I— It would be nice, to have you there. I mean, you're definitely one of my friends, and you should meet the rest. I just, kind of figured that you study most of the time, and Roy was being pushy so I just wanted to… give you an out. If you wanted it."

Jason just looks at him for a couple seconds, and then gives one of those tiny, soft smiles. His stomach flips again. "Thanks. I'll come."

 _This_ smile is much more heartfelt. "Great. So, I'm going to change to something a little…" He struggles for the right word, and Jason's smile curls up into a smirk before he settles on, "Tighter. Anyway, wear whatever you want. I'm sure you'll look great no matter what you put on."

Jason blinks, looking a bit surprised, and he disguises the horror crawling up his throat by spinning around as casually as he can manage and heading for his dresser. God, and he was worried about _Roy_ outing him. Why even bother when he can apparently do the job all by himself? What if Jason really is straight? What if he's prejudiced? What if Jason realizes he's decidedly _not_ straight and it freaks him out? Even apart from being hot, Jason is just really _nice_. He really doesn't want to lose him as a friend (even though Roy would say that a friend he can't be himself with really isn't a friend at all).

He hears Jason's own dresser open, and then, just a minute later and as he's rifling through his shirts for something good, he hears the bathroom door shut. He relaxes a little bit, before he drops his head into his hands and just groans into them, mourning his apparent lack of smoothness around his only crush in… years. He hasn't really had one since Barbara, and that was early high school. He can be smooth for _one_ night at least, can't he? At least enough to keep his own sexuality under wraps?

Shoving aside his indecisiveness, he grabs a one-size-too-small long-sleeved shirt that he's been told matches his eyes and a pair of faded, darker blue jeans that Roy has definitely called his, 'peel-them-off-me pants.' Babs backed him up, but she was also staring at his ass the whole time so he's about ninety percent sure that it was meant to be a good thing.

He strips out of his normal clothes — it takes him a second to remember but he actually does toss them in the hamper instead of leaving them on the floor — and then wiggles into the jeans and shrugs on the shirt. The sleeves he shoves up his arms to just above his elbows, and then he digs into his top drawer to find a belt for the jeans, just to make sure that they stay where they're supposed to. He hears the bathroom door open as he's pulling the black belt into its loops, and hooks the belt closed before he turns around.

His breath promptly catches in his throat.

Jason is… is in a black tank-top that hugs the line of his waist way too well, and leaves bare a good scoop of the top of his chest and shoulders, as well as every _inch_ of those arms. The black jeans cling to his thighs, accentuate the long legs and end over the black boots that he _knows_ are what Jason usually wears anyway but somehow with the rest of it they're totally unfamiliar and _way_ better looking. He pries his gaze away from Jason's legs and the inwards slant to his waist, raises it up and _jesus_ , Jason's got _eyeliner_ on. Thin, black sweeps that are _really_ well done considering he's never seen Jason with make up before. Not that he would know; they've been living together but he's never really seen Jason anywhere outside of the college itself and it's only been a few months.

Jason looks like just about the hottest thing he's seen all year (and like he's ready to climb on a motorcycle with a devilish grin and an invitation to join), and he's probably lucky that the only thing that actually makes it out of his mouth is, "Wow." An eyebrow rises, and he amends that to, "Not what I was expecting from you."

There's a moment where Jason just studies him. Then he says, quietly, "There's probably a lot of things you don't know about me."

He swallows. "Probably," he agrees. "You ready to go?"

Jason snags his jacket from where it's draped over the end of his bed — adding _leather_ to the whole look — and then gives a crooked grin. "Lead the way."

* * *

Barbara, when they get to the bar, almost immediately pulls him aside and in rapid succession first tells him that Jason is _really_ hot, and then demands to know how _dare_ he keep him away from her, and which direction Jason swings. When he admits he doesn't know, Barbara takes a long look at Jason's back and then flatly tells him that she would lay very large amounts of money on his roommate _not_ being straight. And once she points it out, yeah, he does catch a couple moments where Jason at least _seems_ to be checking Roy out.

No judgment there; he fully admits that Roy is a _very_ good looking guy.

Jason only has a couple beers, but he's clearly enjoying being among them even if he's mostly quiet and observing, which almost makes him a lot like Barbara in a way. Roy and Wally are the loudest, with Donna coming in right on their heels, he occupies the middle ground, and then Barbara and Jason are the quietest. Barbara speaks more than he does though; with sharp, barbed comments that are just friendly teasing. He can tell that Jason likes her almost instantly.

No judgment there either; Barbara is… Well, she's _Babs_. He would happily talk her up to anyone who wanted to know.

It really shouldn't come as a surprise, because this happens just about _every_ night that their group goes out and actually drinks, but about three drinks in suddenly Wally is leaning into his side and laughing, catching him in a kiss. He doesn't think anything of it for the couple of seconds it lasts, not until they break, and he laughs, and then he catches sight of Jason, across the table. Jason's eyes are a little wide, a little surprised, and he has just a moment to register that before Barbara's laughing with them and pushing Roy in on his other side. A thick arm slides around his waist, pulls him in against the bigger mass of Roy's chest and the other hand tilts his head up for a kiss on that side too.

Roy's always nice to kiss — better when he's buzzed — and he closes his eyes and leans into it, feeling Roy's hair tickle his cheek. He pulls back when it clicks in his head again that Jason is watching, and looks over to double check that reaction he saw. Jason still looks a little surprised, but he's also smirking, leaning on one elbow and watching with at least a little bit of interest.

Roy leans in next to his ear, and beneath all the music and the conversation from the rest of the bar says, "Just go with this, Dick."

He gets one second of confusion before Barbara says, still sounding amused, "I think Dick's had a little too much. Probably better cut him off before he drinks enough to regret it at his classes later."

Which he definitely has _not_ — he is _totally_ fine and will be for at least another drink — but then Roy is pulling back, grinning and sprawling out in his chair. "Yeah, definitely. Jay, buddy, you mind taking him back to your guys' dorm?"

"Sure," Jason answers easily, pushing back from the table.

He almost protests, and then it occurs to him that Roy and Barbara are _setting him up_. In fact, judging by the way his entire group of friends is looking at him, or Jason, they're _all_ setting him up. _Oh_ , god, his entire group of best friends is setting him up with his impossibly hot roommate. This has to be Roy's doing.

He keeps his mouth shut and lets Jason lift him out of the chair by clasped hands, and _almost_ stares way too hard at how the muscles in Jason's arm bunch up with the effort. Good nights get passed around, including a hug from Barbara and a wink from Roy, before Jason's guiding him out of the bar. It's only a couple of blocks to the college, and it's on their side of the campus, so it's really not that far a walk. Jason's hand stays on the small of his back the whole time, and he is _hyper_ aware of the pressure of it all the way up until it slides off to let Jason unlock the actual door to their room.

He clicks the light on as Jason shuts the door, and then winces at it and shades his eyes with one hand before he laughs to himself. "You know, I was going to say I'm actually totally fine, but that light is _really bright_ , so I might be a little more buzzed than I thought I was."

Jason gives a little rumbling chuckle that tightens up his stomach, and flicks the light off again. "Hang on a second." He tracks Jason's shadowy figure walking across the room, all the way up until it pushes the curtains back and lets moonlight spill into the room to light it instead of the harsher lamp hanging above. "Better?" Jason asks, turning around.

His breath catches, because Jason is framed by the moonlight; shades of grey and white and black and _so_ gorgeous under the enforced bleach of colors. "Yeah," he manages to answer. "Yeah, that's great."

Jason comes back over to him, and there's a second where Jason pauses, studying him, but then he murmurs, "So, if I'm getting this wrong just, forget it ever happened, alright? But, if I'm not…"

Jason steps forward, shifts from comfortable space into almost-too-close and raises a hand in the same moment, tilting his face up with gentle fingers. Then lips are brushing over his and his whole world stutters to a halt for a second. He sucks in a small breath in reaction to the feeling; then his brain catches up with the fact that _Jason is kissing him_ and he gasps again, sharper this time, in actual shock. Jason draws back, probably because of that sound, and he quickly raises a hand and grabs a handful of that black tank top to keep him close.

"Don't—" he starts, but Jason seems to get it.

One arm loops heavy around his back, pulling him in tighter as Jason's kiss turns from a brush of lips to a press of them. He raises his other hand and curls it around the back of Jason's neck, pressing as close as he can get. Maybe with a little too much force because Jason actually staggers back a half-step, breaking the kiss as his balance fails for a second, and then gives a slightly breathless laugh into the space between them.

"Maybe we do this when you're a little less buzzed?" Jason offers, arm warm on his back and smile just as warm.

He laughs too, and carefully lets go of Jason's neck. "Maybe a good idea." He doesn't really want to actually step away though, and judging by the way that Jason's lingering, and the hand on his back is still holding him close, Jason doesn't want to. So, taking a probably reckless leap, he admits, "I'm finding the idea of sleeping in my own bed really unappealing."

Jason's breath rushes out in a quiet, "Oh, thank _god,_ " and then he's being kissed again. Just for a second, before Jason tilts to press their foreheads together and break their mouths apart, eyes made black by the darkness staring down into him. "Sleep with me then; I mean literally. Work all this out in the morning?"

He smiles, and gives a small nod. "Yeah, that sounds good. Clothes still on, right?"

"Ditch the jeans?" Jason counters. "Those _can't_ be comfortable to sleep in."

"And you definitely don't have any ulterior motives there," he teases. Jason snorts but doesn't answer. "Mutual. No jeans, no shoes. Deal?"

Jason nods, and the hand on his back finally slips away so he lets go of Jason's shirt too. "Deal."

There's another pause, and then Jason takes in a deep breath and steps away, putting actual space between them. Another breath, and Jason turns and actually heads for his bed, sitting down on the edge of it and leaning over to work the laces on his boots loose. He follows, sitting down next to Jason and then just taking a moment to look at him, to watch.

"I _really_ like this whole _look_ ," he ends up blurting, waving a hand in Jason's general direction.

He gets a snort, and the flash of a grin. "That was kind of the point. I really only had so many subtle ways to test if you were actually straight that didn't involve just _asking_ you, which… could have been awkward." The boots come off, and Jason gives him a smaller smile. "Really glad you're not, by the way."

He kicks off his own sneakers, and smiles back. "Really glad you're not either," he answers. "You're _really_ good-looking."

"Pot, meet kettle," Jason fires back, and then gives a crooked grin. "If we're talking about things that are a relief, I am _so thrilled_ that I don't have to try and not look every time you come back, shower, and then spend the rest of the night in nothing but _boxers_." He almost chokes, and Jason holds both hands to his own chest with a smirk and a drawled, "Seriously? Do you know what that _does_ to a bi man?"

"Okay, but your _voice_ ," he tries to counter. "It's all deep, and rumbling, and I _love_ your accent; my stomach flips half the time you talk."

Jason looks surprised for a second, and then it melts into a wicked smirk. He blinks, and Jason leans closer, breath warm over his neck as he says, "Is that right?" _directly_ into his ear. Low, and rough, and _oh god_.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and shivers as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes for a second. "Not _fair_ ," he breathes, gripping the edge of the bed with both hands so he doesn't do something stupid. Like jumping Jason. Or at least kissing him.

Jason chuckles, and he bites his tongue and tightens his grip enough that his fingers ache a bit. None of which helps when Jason murmurs, "Get your jeans off," and then pulls away from him.

"You're a devil," he almost gasps, staring over with wide eyes, and Jason just laughs.

He flops backwards onto the bed, pulling his belt open and then hooking his thumbs in underneath the edges of his jeans so he can start to wiggle out of them. The hips are the hardest part. Suddenly there's a hand on one hip, a warm thumb brushing his skin, and he looks up, startled. Jason looks a little embarrassed, but the hand doesn't pull away.

"Your uh— Your boxers were slipping," Jason explains, looking away but keeping the warm pressure of that hand there.

He smiles, pushing the jeans down that last inch onto his thighs and realizing yeah, he _was_ tugging his boxers down a little bit in the process. Kind of unavoidable, with jeans this tight. "That's very sweet," he says, pushing back up to sitting so he can lean his weight over against Jason's side. " _You're_ very sweet."

Jason looks back over, still looking a little embarrassed. A little _shy._ There's a moment of hesitation, and then Jason softly says, "So now you know a few more things about me."

He can't help but smile a little wider.

Now that they're off his hips it's easier to shove the jeans the rest of the way off. Jason is just a step behind him, since his jeans aren't a size too tight and actually come off without any necessary acrobatics. He's seen them before, but this time he actually has a real excuse to just stare at Jason's legs for a couple seconds and really _appreciate_ the paler skin and the muscle of them. At least until Jason crawls backwards onto the bed and to the top of it, tugging the covers down and sliding in underneath. They get lifted, inviting, and he takes in a deep breath and moves to join Jason underneath them.

It's not a very big bed, so he finds himself pressing right up against Jason, legs sliding together as he settles. There's a bit of awkwardness as they reposition, finding something comfortable for both of them, but eventually it works, after a couple knocked together limbs and some laughter from both of them. He ends up with his head underneath Jason's chin, one arm curled between them and the other wrapped around Jason's back. One of Jason's arms is beneath the pillow under their heads, and the other is draped over his waist, fingers resting against the sliver of skin on his low back that's exposed between the hem of his boxers and the bottom of his shirt where it's ridden up a bit. One of those legs is between his, and he's got his other leg hooked up over it, pulling Jason almost partially on top of him.

"Good night," he murmurs into Jason's chest, once they've settled.

"Night," Jason echoes, barely loud enough to be heard.

Jason's thumb starts rubbing tiny circles into the skin of his back, and it's _nice_. He relaxes, and lets himself slip towards sleep.

* * *

Jason wakes up warm, comfortable, and it takes him a few moments to realize that there's a hot body pressed up against his, breath tickling the sensitive skin of his throat and collarbone. It takes him another couple moments to figure out that the sound that pulled him out of sleep is a ringtone, and _not_ his.

He shifts, gets a little grumble of sound voiced into his chest, and the night before rushes back to him with all the vivid clarity that reminds him it _wasn't_ a dream. Dick's nowhere near as straight as he was concerned he might be, he got to _kiss_ him, and he got to go to sleep with the body he's being admiring from afar pressed right up against him. N _one_ of it was a dream, and that kind of blows his mind for a few long seconds. Until the ringtone starts up again.

"Dick," he says, prying his eyes open and wincing at the morning light coming in through the open curtains. "Dick, your phone's ringing."

Dick grumbles something incomprehensible, but _does_ move. He almost gasps as the body against him twists, legs staying stubbornly curled around his even as Dick bends backwards and half off the bed, groping around for his phone. The jeans come up, and he stares as Dick pulls the phone out of a pocket, wondering how the _hell_ that managed to fit in there considering how tight those jeans are, before Dick swipes to answer the call at the same time as he curls back up and right back against his chest.

"Hello?" Dick asks, sounding half-asleep.

He can't quite resist stroking his fingers along the portion of Dick's back that's bare, as he watches. He gets a small shiver for it.

 _"Dick!"_ Roy's voice is tinny, but Dick's phone is turned up loud enough that he can hear it. _"Did it work? Did you get him?"_

He raises an eyebrow as Dick yawns. "You're a prick, Roy," Dick grumbles, but it doesn't sound like he actually means it. "You could have asked me about the whole idea instead of just setting me up like that. I mean, you get everybody else in on it but don't even _tell_ me?"

 _"You needed a shove; he's totally into you. Come on, did it work? Did you get a kiss? At least some comment on how hot you are? Little bit of wandering hands, or—?"_

Dick looks up as Roy continues speaking, and he smirks, pulling his hand away from Dick's back and lifting it to touch the hand holding Dick's phone. Dick yields it to him with a smirk of his own, and he raises it up to his own ear, waiting for Roy to finish the rant.

It ends with a, _"Come_ _ **on**_ _, Dick. Did it work?"_

"Nah; not even a little," he answers, and then, in the moment where there's a sharp silence, pulls it away from his ear and looks up to find the 'end call' button.

 _"Woah,_ _ **wait**_ _. Are you—?"_

He hangs up, and Dick bursts into laughter beside him, taking the phone from him. "That was _great_." He grins, and Dick shifts closer in against him, murmuring, "Come here." He follows the prompt, and then the flick of eyes upwards towards the phone, which Dick has the camera open on. He keeps his grin through the click of the 'shutter,' and then wraps his arm back around Dick's waist as Dick moves to send the picture somewhere. "That's all they're getting out of me."

"Yeah?"

Dick hums agreement, and then pointedly drops the phone back over the edge of the bed and probably onto the pile of his jeans. "Let them freak out amongst themselves; I've got better things to do."

He smiles at the implication that _he's_ 'better things,' and then Dick leans in to kiss him. Alright, it's a little gross, but he shoves away the morning-breath fact and enjoys it anyway. Definitely worth it. He's got what he didn't think he was ever going to have — at least not while in _this_ college — and all the rest of the problems in the world can all just shut up and give him a minute, because he's going to _enjoy_ it.

When Dick pulls back there's a matching smile curling his lips. "Do you want to get dinner tonight? Not as a _favor_ , but like, an actual date?"

He rubs his thumb across Dick's back, and murmurs, "Yeah. I'd like that."

Dick's smile turns _brilliant,_ and his breath catches in his throat. He's the one to lean in for a kiss this time, and Dick meets him, warm and welcoming and… It's _so good_ after these months of being attracted but scared of what might happen if he let it show. He just wants to lay here forever.

But the real world butts its head back in, and when the kiss ends he hesitates for just a moment before pointing out, "Rooming with _and_ dating the black sheep; people might crucify you."

There's a pause, and then Dick breathes, "Let them _try_."


End file.
